In some ways, I’m the stereotypical scaredy cat.
I hate being alone. I still don’t like sleeping in a room by myself. Somehow, I think that nothing bad will happen when I have a bedtime buddy. I do realize that I’m 22, not 12.
I’m also not a huge fan of conquering the dark solo. I don’t like driving alone. Or even walking from a car to my house alone. After all, they had the show “Are you afraid of the dark?” for a reason. You’re practically supposed to be afraid of the dark.
Scary movies are also not my style. Forewarning to anyone who loves watching scary movies: Don’t let me join. I tend to talk excessively—even more than usual—and also close my eyes pretty much through the credits.
Yet when it comes to streets, I’m not so smart. Not in the lack-of-common-sense way (though, I lack that too). I’m just not as scared as I should be. Case in point: Last night, Kathy and I decided it would be a great idea to take a Midnight walk home from Court Ave alone. A near-3 mile midnight stroll. The potential dangers of said stroll didn’t even faze me. Though I probably should of, considering the fact that the usual suspects at this hour consist of older men yelling “HAAAAYYYY” and homeless women asking “‘Scuse me miss, can you spare some change?”